


our vows are no longer vows

by mrsenjolras



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Yom Kippur | Atonement Day, we luv teshuvah!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsenjolras/pseuds/mrsenjolras
Summary: Nidrana lo nidrei, V'essarana lo essarei, Ush'vuatana lo shevuot.Our vows are no longer vows, our prohibitions are no longer prohibitions, and our oaths are no longer oaths.[Or: Bucky, Sam, and two different Yom Kippurs]
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34





	our vows are no longer vows

**Author's Note:**

> shana tova and g'mar tov! i have been thinking about this fic for a while, and i'm happy to post it right before yom kippur. here's to repentance and love and jewish bucky. there are some explanatory notes at the end for those with questions, and feel free to reach out to me on [tumblr](http://foliealou.tumblr.com). 
> 
> thanks to steph for reading this over and for always being my #1 person to cry about jewish bucky with!

_**september 22, 2015; bucharest, romania** _

Sam doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He and Steve had been criss-crossing Europe for months, tailing the ghost of the Winter Soldier. Or maybe it’s the ghost of Bucky Barnes; Sam’s not quite sure. But Steve had been called away on Avengers business last week, had asked Sam to follow this lead into Romania, and he’d looked so defeated that Sam was helpless to say anything but yes. 

So he finds himself at a cafe in Bucharest, across the street from a slightly rundown Communist-era apartment building, watching for someone who probably isn’t even here. Sometimes he feels like the Soldier is playing with them, that he leaves these clues and then moves on, never intending to let them close enough to touch. And Sam’s still not fully convinced it’s a good idea to bring the Soldier in, anyway. He’s read the files; he knows that level of torture and brainwashing can’t be broken easily. But Steve’s convinced that Bucky is in there somewhere, that Bucky had known him enough to pull him from the river and save his life, and Sam trusts him. 

Sam’s mom always said he’d follow his heart no matter where it led him, and she wasn’t wrong. Following Captain America across the world isn’t the worst place he’s gone, either. Sure, it’s a lot of cheap motels in former Eastern-bloc countries, but he’ll take that over the Afghan desert any day. 

Man, something about Eastern Europe makes him maudlin. He checks his watch; he’s been sitting here for a couple of hours already, and there’s been no movement from the building across the street. It’s getting close to sundown, and Sam’s thinking he’ll need to find somewhere to eat dinner before going back to his hotel for the night. Maybe he’ll try to call Steve again, though the other man hasn’t answered him in a few days. Sam tries not to think too hard about that, because Steve had been vague enough about whatever Avengers business he had to see to, which means it’s entirely likely the world will be ending in a few days. And Sam is still on a random corner in Romania. 

He sighs and signals to the young man behind the counter that he’d like the check. The guy brings it over, looking bored. Sam can relate. Only then, as he’s setting down the bills to cover his coffee and pastry, there’s movement out of the corner of his eye. 

He looks up, and there _he_ is. Across the street, the Winter Soldier ( _or is it Bucky?_ ) is walking briskly down the street. He’s dressed in dark colors, though the pants and jacket are a far cry from the tactical gear he was wearing the last time Sam saw him in person. When Barnes had ripped off his wings and thrown him from the air. 

_Rogers, you owe me so much for this_ , he thinks to himself as he stands and follows Barnes down the street. He keeps a distance between them, though Barnes doesn’t seem to be particularly worried about being spotted. He keeps his head down, long hair falling in front of his face, and his hands are firmly placed in his pockets, but he moves easily through the more crowded areas of the street until he comes to a stop in front of a large building. 

Sam stops on the opposite corner, watching as Barnes looks up at the building’s facade for a moment before he goes inside. There are other people entering the building as well, and Sam waits for a minute or two before he follows a larger group inside. 

He pauses just inside the doorway and looks around. Though the building was nondescript from the outside, it has a beautiful interior, with walls decorated in intricate gold patterns and Hebrew letters. It’s a synagogue, he realizes suddenly, and feels horrifically out of place in his casual clothes. He’d last been in a synagogue several years ago, for the wedding of one of his coworkers from the VA, and he has no idea what the proper etiquette is for a standard service. 

Barnes was ( _is?_ ) Jewish, Sam remembers then. Steve had told him, of course, but Sam remembers it from his history books growing up, too. Barnes had been held up as a hero for the Jewish community, the same way Jim Morita was for Japanese Americans and Gabe Jones for Black Americans. Sam knows Hydra must have done their best to remove those memories; he’s read the files, the clinical way they would write about _reprogramming_ and _the Asset’s_ performance in the face of horrific treatment. It makes something go tight in his chest to think that Barnes is trying to get those memories back. 

Sam’s been standing in the door for a little too long, he realizes. He’s about to turn around and go back outside, not wanting to intrude on whatever Barnes is trying to recover here, when a woman around his age steps towards him and asks him something in Romanian. 

“Um,” Sam says, suddenly flustered. He really wasn’t cut out for this spy stuff, though he supposed he was a bit more discreet than Steve. 

The woman just smiles at him, though. “Oh,” she says, “I said, are you here for the service?” Her English is accented, but she’s looking at him kindly. Sam knows he shouldn’t, but he finds himself nodding. 

“Yes, uh, I’m traveling,” he says, scrambling for a cover, “and I didn’t think to make arrangements. Sorry.” 

“It is alright!” she says, still cheerful. “All are welcome. Here, this is the program. I am sorry it is not in English.” She hands him a small piece of paper. On the top is written _Kol Nidrei 5776_. “You will find the _kipot_ and _tallisim_ over there.” She gestures to a table piled with what Sam recognizes as yarmulkes and the prayer shawls he’s seen friends wear before. It occurs to him that this is probably not a normal service, and that he might have stumbled into a holiday observance. “I hope you enjoy the service,” the woman continues. “ _G’mar tov_.”

Sam nods at her, thanks her only slightly awkwardly. He walks over to the table and puts on a yarmulke, though he leaves the shawl where it is, unsure of how he would wear it. He picks up one of the prayer books at the end of the table, too, though he can’t read any Hebrew. Then he walks into the next room and slips into a seat towards the back. 

For a moment, he’s so struck by the beauty of the space that he doesn’t even think to look for Barnes. The hall is large, with a domed ceiling decorated with more of the intricate designs from the outer vestibule. There’s a large chandelier dominating most of the ceiling, and at the end of the room the wall is decorated with several arches surrounding the ark holding the Torah scrolls. Sam sits for a minute and takes in the beauty surrounding him before he remembers that there’s a reason he’s here. 

He brings his eyes back down to the people around him. The synagogue is fairly full, and more people are coming in, but he manages to spot Barnes easily. He’s sitting closer to the front, but still mostly apart from other people. He’s wearing a yarmulke and the prayer shawl is draped over his shoulders. He keeps his eyes forward, but Sam doesn’t flatter himself to think that Barnes hasn’t noticed him. Sam is still here because Barnes is letting him stay, and, well, Sam’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

The service starts not long after that. Sam’s lost for most of it; the majority is in Hebrew and what isn’t is in Romanian. Though he can’t follow the words, there’s a feeling that overcomes him during the service, listening to the full synagogue reciting the words in harmony. It’s powerful in a way that cuts him to the core, makes him feel like something’s been pulled from him and that he'll walk out of this room a different man than the one he was when he walked in. 

He watches Barnes for most of the service, though the other man never looks his way or acknowledges his presence. Sam’s at an angle where he can just see the side of Barnes’ face, can watch his focus on the prayer book in his hands, the careful way he pronounces each prayer. When the rabbi steps forward to speak for a while in Romanian, Barnes sits back and closes his eyes, listening closely. It’s the most vulnerable Sam has ever seen him.

He wonders what Barnes is thinking of, as he sits and listens and prays. Sam has no idea how much Barnes remembers, if this is reminding him of some time back in Brooklyn before the war, or if this is something about himself he’s trying to rebuild. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Sam very suddenly feels like he shouldn’t have followed Barnes here, like he’s intruding on a delicate moment of recovery that isn’t his to share. He knows how rough recovery can be, and how much of it is deeply personal and inexplicable to others. He knows it in himself, and from his work at the VA, and, more recently, in this strange Eurotrip with Steve. It doesn’t always make sense, and it isn’t always meant to be shared, and Sam feels a sense of guilt come over him for taking that from Barnes, from someone who’s had so much else taken from him.

He doesn’t know if he can leave now, though, in the middle of the service. So he takes his eyes off Barnes and trains them forward, intending to leave Barnes some privacy. There’s a moment, though, not long after, when the congregation stands for another prayer. It involves a solemn recitation, during which each person takes their right hand and knocks it in a fist against their heart. Sam can’t help but glance quickly over at Barnes and is struck, again, at the open emotion on his face as he prays. Sam looks away and doesn’t look at Barnes again.

Sam slips out the door as soon as the service wraps up, wanting to put distance between himself and Barnes. He knows Barnes probably watches him go, and that he could easily follow Sam if he wanted to, but he also thinks that Barnes just wants to be left alone, and Sam is happy to oblige. 

He already knows he won’t tell Steve that he saw Barnes, or that it seems like Barnes might be set up in Romania for a while. Steve would want to come immediately, to bring Barnes home, and Sam doesn’t think that would be a good idea _at all_.

Sam goes back to his hotel room, making sure that no one has followed him before entering his room and double-checking the locks behind him. These checks are mostly out of habit; he doesn’t think Barnes followed him from the synagogue, and there’s been no sign of Hydra or any other agency since he got to Bucharest. 

He sits down on the stiff mattress and pulls out his laptop, intent on figuring out just what he experienced in that synagogue. He still has the program that the woman handed him when he walked in, and he pulls it out, laying it flat on the mattress next to him. When he looks up “kol nidrei,” he gets results immediately: _**Kol Nidrei is an Aramaic declaration recited in synagogue before the beginning of the evening service on every Yom Kippur.**_

So it’s Yom Kippur, Sam realizes. He knows what that is, knows it’s the Day of Atonement and one of the most important days of the Jewish year. He sucks in a breath as he thinks about Barnes trying to repent for actions that were never fully in his control. Sam scrolls further down the page, reading about the meaning of the Kol Nidrei and each of the prayers. He discovers that the prayer he’d noticed for its arm movements was called Ashamnu, that it was a list of sins. 

He sits back against the bed, letting out a breath. He thinks again of the look on Barnes’ face during the prayer, the careful way he beat his fist against his heart. He knows that Barnes is trying to get better, and that he might even be succeeding. And Sam knows he's not going to interfere with that at all. 

The next day, Sam flies home from Bucharest. He leaves Steve a message saying the trip was a bust, but Steve doesn't respond. Three days after that, Sam watches from his apartment as Sokovia falls.

As he watches, Sam's mind inexplicably returns to Barnes reciting his sins in the hope of atonement. Then he thinks of Steve, and the slope of his shoulders like he's carrying the world on them. He hopes--no, he _prays_ \--that someday the world will be kinder to those men.

*

_**october 1, 2025; new york, usa** _

Sam watches with a small smile as Bucky checks his hair in the mirror for the fifth time. Ever since he cut it short again, he's been much fussier with its style. “You look good,” he says from his spot on the couch. 

Bucky does, though Sam’s perhaps a little biased on this question. He thinks Bucky looks good when he’s wearing Sam’s old sweats on their couch. But now, dressed in a crisp white button-down and tailored pants and with his hair carefully coiffed, he looks like he could’ve walked right off a magazine photoshoot. He turns away from the mirror to smile at Sam. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” he says, and Sam rolls his eyes at the endearment, even as it makes something swoop in his chest. Bucky keeps smiling like he knows exactly what he does to Sam--which he probably _does_ , the asshole--and walks over to the couch. He leans over Sam, boxing him in against the armrest and pressing his lips against Sam’s in a slow kiss. Sam hums happily, bringing his hands up to rest lightly on Bucky’s waist. 

Bucky pulls back after a moment, still smiling at Sam. “Do you wanna come with?” he asks, and Sam takes a second to figure out what he means by that. 

“To Yom Kippur?” he asks. He’s been to a few Shabbat services with Bucky before, and they hosted a seder for their friends last year, but generally Bucky goes to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur service alone. 

“Sure,” Bucky says with a shrug. Then his smile shifts a bit, turns teasing. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been.” 

Sam smacks Bucky in the side. “I knew you knew I was there!” he says, indignant. Sure, it’s been a decade--well, with a five-year blip in the middle--since that night in Romania, but Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. It was the first time he ever saw the real Bucky, not the soldier from his history book or the brainwashed assassin trying to kill him. It was the moment he started to understand why Steve was so dedicated to finding Bucky, why he had so much faith that the Hydra brainwashing could be broken. It’s likely the night that set Sam on the path that got him here, on the couch in their little duplex in New York, watching Bucky get ready for synagogue. 

“Course I knew you were there, baby,” Bucky says, bringing Sam back to the moment. “But I knew you wouldn’t start anything with me. If Steve had been there it would’ve been a different story.” He’s laughing when he says it, but Sam knows it’s true. It took Steve and Bucky a long time to work through all their shit, and back then Bucky was in no place to deal with it. 

Sam rolls his eyes at Bucky, though he knows there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You sure you want me to come? I won’t really know what I’m doing.” 

Bucky drops another quick kiss to Sam’s lips. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you there. Plus, it’ll keep all the bubbes from setting me up with their grandchildren.” 

“Well we don’t want that,” Sam says, pushing gently against Bucky’s chest so he can stand up. “Let me get dressed.” He leaves Bucky on the couch and goes into their bedroom, changing quickly into a button down shirt and real pants. He ducks into the bathroom to check his hair and beard in the mirror, though he knows there’s not much time to fix it if there’s something out of place. 

He walks back out into the living room. “How do I look?” he asks, and Bucky looks up from where he’d been typing something on his phone. His eyes scan slowly and appreciatively up and down Sam’s body. Sam does not let himself get flustered over the look in Bucky’s eyes when they meet Sam’s again.

“You’ll do,” he says after a moment, and Sam snorts. 

“So you won’t be leaving me for a nice Jewish boy?” 

“Nah,” Bucky says, standing and walking over to Sam. “Everyone knows there’s only one goy for me.”

Sam laughs, reaching out to shove at Bucky’s shoulder. “Shut up. Should we go?” he asks. Bucky nods and takes Sam’s hand. He uses his left hand, which was something that took him months to feel comfortable with when they first started dating. Sam’s not sure when the feeling of cool metal between his fingers became so soothing to him, but he supposes it just comes along with the package of falling in love with Bucky Barnes. 

They live only a few blocks from Bucky’s synagogue--part of what had attracted them to the neighborhood in the first place--so they set out walking. The early evening air is crisp, the beginnings of fall weather seeping in as the sun begins to set. It’s a quiet walk, comfortable, and Sam can see that Bucky’s relaxed, even though his eyes still scan the horizon occasionally, searching for threats. That, too, had taken him a long time; even in their quiet neighborhood Bucky took a while to relax fully around other people. 

Sam is struck, for a moment, at the differences between the man beside him and the one he had followed into a synagogue in Bucharest, ten years and a lifetime ago. That man was broken and desperately trying to find the pieces that could put him back together again. The Bucky next to him isn’t whole, exactly, but neither is Sam; they’ve both been through too much, both together and apart, to ever feel one hundred percent normal. But Bucky’s built himself a life and found happiness again and Sam feels unbelievably lucky to be included in that. When he looks over at Bucky now, he can barely see the man with long, greasy hair and sunken eyes that he once was. Instead, he sees the man who just hours ago was in their kitchen singing along to the radio as he made a hearty meal to eat before his fast. Sam can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face when Bucky looks over and catches his eye. 

“What?” Bucky asks, glancing around. They’re nearly at the synagogue now, and Sam can see other couples and families heading toward the entrance. He recognizes a few faces here and there, but he can also tell there are more people here tonight than there were at the Shabbats he attended. 

“Nothing,” Sam says, shrugging. Bucky narrows his eyes, clearly intending to call Sam out on that, but Sam tugs them closer to the door before he can say anything. When they step inside, several groups of people are milling around and chatting before the service begins. Bucky drops Sam’s hand for a minute to place his yarmulke on his head and wrap his tallit around his shoulders. He takes Sam’s hand again with a smile when he’s finished. 

“Come on,” he says, “I want the good seats.” 

Sam rolls his eyes as he follows Bucky. They’re a good fifteen minutes early, and the synagogue is only half full. Still, Bucky pulls him along to a bench near the front. They’ve barely sat down when an elderly woman begins walking down the aisle towards them. 

“Oh, James!” she calls, waving, and Bucky turns, smiling and standing when he sees the woman. “Hello!” she says to the both of them. 

“Hello, Miriam,” Bucky says. He leans in and gives her a hug. “G’mar tov. How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Miriam says. She looks around for a second before gesturing to a woman standing a few feet away. “James, have you met my granddaughter, Talia?” Talia smiles and reaches out to shake their hands. She’s around their age, and quite beautiful, and Sam thinks that maybe Bucky wasn’t joking about the grandmothers trying to set him up. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Bucky says easily before reaching back to take Sam’s hand again. “Miriam, you remember my partner Sam, right?” 

“Oh, yes!” Miriam says, peering over at Sam. “It’s nice to see you again. You’re taking good care of James now, aren’t you?” 

Sam looks a Bucky, eyes wide. Bucky looks back at him, clearly trying to hold back his laughter. “Well, I try to,” Sam says to Miriam, ignoring the way Bucky’s shoulders start to shake next to him. Talia, next to her grandmother, looks to be in the same boat, though she gives Sam a sympathetic look. 

“He does very well,” Bucky says, squeezing Sam’s hand a bit. 

“Good,” Miriam says with a nod. “But you both need to eat more--you’re thin as boards! Now, we should go. Talia, I think Ruth’s brought her grandson along and I need to introduce you.” She walks off then, and Talia rolls her eyes at them before following after her. Sam sits, still a little dazed by the whole interaction. Bucky sits next to him, laughing. 

“Traumatized yet?” he asks before bumping his shoulder against Sam’s. 

“Only a little,” Sam says. He glances around the room; it’s filling up now, and he thinks the service will start soon. Most people are milling around, chatting and smiling with the people around them. “Is it always like this?” 

“Hm?” Bucky hums. He follows Sam’s gaze around the room. “Oh, well, I guess so. It’s definitely a more serious holiday, but it’s always nice to see everyone. And for me this has always been one of my favorite holidays.” 

“Really?” Sam asked. He knew Bucky always observed Yom Kippur, but he hadn’t thought it was his favorite. 

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs. “I mean, you know Passover is great too, but even when I was a kid I loved Yom Kippur. I don’t know why, really. I like the prayers, and that it’s a day to apologize to God but also to other people. I like that we always have the chance to ask forgiveness. You know, _teshuvah_ means ‘return’ and ‘repentance’ together. So when I first started coming back to service--that night you saw me--it was me returning to myself. Or starting to, at least.” 

Sam can’t resist; he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “That makes sense. Thanks for explaining. I’ll probably need you to do that a lot. I had no idea what happened last time until I went and Googled it.”

Bucky snorts. “Alright then,” he says, handing Sam his prayer book. “Remember, we read right to left.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “I know _that_ much, smartass,” he mutters, and Bucky laughs next to him. 

“And try to avoid swearing, Sammy, we are in a house of God.” 

Sam elbows him, but Bucky just laughs again. He looks like he’s going to say something else but at that moment the rabbi steps up and asks for people to find their seats so the service can begin. Bucky’s face turns more serious and he moves to fully face the front of the room. He still leans over and explains what’s happening to Sam, though, and Sam feels so grateful that Bucky wants to share all of this with him. 

Sam remembers some things from the last time he was at a service, but it’s different to be in the middle of it. It’s different to be right next to Bucky, rather than watching him from across the room. He can hear Bucky’s voice as he prays, can see the serious look in his eyes, can watch as Bucky nods along to the rabbi’s speech. 

Bucky glances across at him while the rabbi speaks, catching Sam staring. He smiles and takes Sam’s hand in his again before turning forward again. The rabbi is a woman named Chava, and Sam knows she reminds Bucky of his little sister Becca, who was smarter than all the boys in their synagogue by half but wasn’t allowed to go to yeshiva. Bucky told Sam that finding out women could become rabbis in the 21st century was one of the first things to make him feel like maybe the future wasn’t so bad. 

Sam tunes back into the sermon as she says, “Vows are upheld, or annulled, by others. When we say our vows of contrition and repentance out loud, and others hear them, then those who hear play a role in the fulfillment of our vows. When we stand together for Kol Nidrei, we annul each other’s vows, and we promise to support each other in _teshuvah_ and change. We stand for ourselves and for our community, and we commit to each other and to God that we atone our sins.” Bucky nods along with the rabbi’s words and squeezes Sam’s hand. 

Sam turns back to look at Bucky, yet again, as the rabbi concludes, “The message of Kol Nidrei is that our repentance depends on others, and the repentance of others depends on us. Our ability to change is contingent upon the support of the community, of those who surround us. And on this Kol Nidrei let us all pledge to be that someone else who cares, that someone who hears another’s repentance and says ‘yes, I see you and I am with you.’”

She begins to pray in Hebrew, then, and Bucky leans in to translate in Sam’s ear. “ _V’al kulam_ , _eloha selichot._ For all these sins, oh God of forgiveness. _S’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kaper lanu._ Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.” 

Sam thinks of Bucky next to him, and of himself, and of Rabbi Chava and Miriam and Talia and the others in that room. He thinks about Steve and Natasha and Riley and everyone not with them in person but who stay with Sam wherever he goes. And Sam joins in as the congregation says, “Amen.” 

**Author's Note:**

> hi! most of the text of rabbi chava's speech was taken from [this kol nidre sermon](https://tbiskokie.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Rabbi-Weinberg%E2%80%99s-Erev-Yom-Kippur-Sermon-5779-2018.pdf) from a few years ago, with some of my own contributions.
> 
> if it wasn't clear in the fic, a kipah/yarmulke is a head covering worn (generally by men, but also by others) in synagogue, and a tallit/tallis is a prayer shawl also worn in synagogue, especially on the high holy days. 'g'mar tov' is a phrase used between rosh hashanah and yom kippur meaning literally "a good end" or "a good close," generally wishing that people are inscribed into the book of life for the coming year.
> 
> i think most everything else was covered, but as always you can find me [here](http://foliealou.tumblr.com) and if you want to give this a reblog you can find the post [here](https://foliealou.tumblr.com/post/630277293777076224/our-vows-are-no-longer-vows-nidrana-lo-nidrei). thanks for reading!


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